Snake in Fridge

Call it "The Real World: Shirley Jackson." From the twisted mind of Brad Fraser, by way of Jackson's classic chiller The Haunting of Hill House, comes Snake in Fridge, a horror-drama-comedy receiving its New York premiere at the 14^th Street Y. Six disparate characters, all of whom are somehow involved in or touched by the adult entertainment industries, live in an old house somewhere in Canada. One of them commits a murder. Another sees it happen. All of them seem to be in danger, and the word "More" keeps appearing on the television screen...

If it sounds a little silly, that's because it is. It's also fun in the grandest grand guignol style. Equal parts camp and genuine drama, the play revels in its surreality but keeps the emotional ties that bind as its core.

In this respect, the play is not unlike Fraser's most famous work, Unidentified Human Remains and the True Nature of Love. That play examined relationships in the midst of a serial killer's spree. Likewise, the sex industry and drug abuse figured into the plot, but mostly on the periphery. Here, Fraser ups the ante, making drug addiction a central plot point, and having pornography as the primary link between all of the characters. It's shocking, but in a rather sweet way. Fraser has matured as a playwright, and while his subject matter may still be scandalous, his execution is more mellow. Rather than wallowing in the more sordid aspects of his subjects lives, he focuses on their relationships, whether romantic, sexual, friendly, or familial, and treats them all with equal respect. Sisters protect each other, lovers decide their future, friends reveal dark truths, drug addicts hide snakes in the freezer, and relationships are made and broken.

Blake Lawrence directs the play with a rather awkward coyness, presenting such edgy fare as people using the toilet, showering, and dancing and wrestling naked, but somehow never quite making it feel... well, edgy. There is a sense of shyness about much of the production, despite the nudity, drug use, and violence. It all comes across as rather theatrical, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. The actors speak in tones that never quite feel natural, which highlights the unnatural goings-on around the house, but leaves some of the more emotional moments feeling as surreal as the ghost talking through the television set.

But for the most part, the cast works very well together, with some truly standout performances from Susan O'Conner as a mentally handicapped child-woman, Sarah K. Lippmann as her tough but loving sister, and Matthew J. Nichols as the drug-addicted male stripper who threatens them. (Mr. Nichols particularly shines in a comic monologue about penis size.) The actors also do very nice accent work, sounding uniformly and believably Canadian. The angular, leaning set by Jennifer Varbalow aptly conjures the angular, leaning house, but forces the actors to walk around the stage in rather unnatural ways to get from locale to locale. A large flat-screen television that hovers over the set, however, works well as a plot point in Act Two, but is rather distracting in Act One.

Between the sex, nudity, violence, drug abuse, and ghosts, Snake in Fridge won't be to everyone's tastes. Those willing to suspend both disbelief and prudery, however, may well find a surprisingly dramatic and poignant examination of friendship and love, not to mention a fun spookfest.

Snake in Fridge runs until May 8^th at the 14^th Street Y. Call 212-868-4444 for tickets.

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